


His Savage Bride

by imaginary_golux



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Multi, human BB-8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-08 13:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14106723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Finn didn't particularly want to be made a prince, and hecertainlydidn't want to be chosen as the sacrificial double for the crown prince of the Empire, but here he is, in the baffling Kingom of Jakku, preparing to marry War Princess Rey - and die by her hands.He'll do his duty. The only problem is, it's becoming steadily less obvious what his dutyis.Beta by my darling Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Day One

Finn swallows hard and smooths down the front of his tunic, hands clammy with nerves. The ship will finish docking in just a few minutes, and then he will disembark and present himself to his betrothed: the War Princess Rey, daughter of the terrifying War Queen Leia, whose armies battled Supreme Leader Snoke’s to a standstill - and then beat them back so effectively that Supreme Leader Snoke sued for peace. Which is why Finn is here, a mere knight elevated abruptly to royal rank solely so that he can be sent off to become consort to the woman the bards call the Sun’s Rey, the Sandstorm Incarnate, the Light Magnificent and Terrible.

It’s said she is a warrior without equal and a sorceress who can kill with her glare. It’s said she can call up the whirlwind and summon fire from the sky. It’s said she was made of sand and blood and magic and the War Queen’s will, and cannot be slain. It’s said she’s never lost a battle or a duel. It’s said she’s beautiful enough to strike men blind and graceful enough to dance upon the wind and strong enough to cleave a man in two from crotch to chin. It’s said she keeps the heads of her defeated enemies mounted on pikes behind her throne.

And for the sake of peace between their peoples, Finn will be married to her in three short days, under the full moon. Assuming he is lucky enough to survive that long. And if he’s _very_ lucky, his death shortly thereafter, in the duel which is apparently a traditional part of the Jakku wedding ceremony, will be swift.

The ship thumps gently against the dock, and Finn can hear the sailors calling to each other as they tie the ship in place. Scant moments later, there’s a rap on the door to Finn’s cabin, and the captain calls, “Highness? We’ve arrived.”

Finn takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that he is a blooded warrior who won his spurs by his own deeds, and not a child. He steps forward to open the door, mustering a smile from somewhere for the captain, who is looking distinctly nervous. “Thank you, captain,” he says, as courteously as he can, and makes his way with what he hopes looks like slow dignity and not abject terror across the deck to the gangplank, and down to the stone pier.

The gangplank is narrow, and bounces unnervingly beneath his feet, which gives Finn a good excuse to keep his eyes on his boots so as not to trip and overbalance into the water lapping against the dock - and probably get squished by the ship, the way his luck has been going these last few weeks - but once he’s on solid ground, he has no more excuses. Slowly, Finn raises his eyes to regard the young woman at the head of the welcoming party.

She is, in fact, very beautiful. She’s maybe two inches shorter than Finn is, with pale skin tanned gold, and brown hair bound up in an elegant braided crown, and piercing brown eyes that seem to see into Finn’s very soul. She’s holding her infamous quarterstaff in one long-fingered hand - the staff, so all the songs say, can sprout foot-long blades from each end at its wielder’s desire. She is lithe and wiry and clearly far stronger than her slight form would seem to indicate.

And she is looking at Finn in slowly growing confusion.

For lack of any better idea, Finn bows deeply. “Your Highness,” he says, proud that his voice does not shake, “I am prince Finn Ren of the Empire, and I am come in obedience to the treaty between our peoples to become your spouse.” He has practiced that little speech a thousand times over the course of the journey across the sea, reciting it again and again so that he will not trip over the new last name or unaccustomed rank. It comes out clear and correct, just as Finn has practiced. And then he waits, shoulders back, for whatever the response might be.

“You’re not Kylo,” War Princess Rey says after a long moment. Finn can’t read her tone - is she angry? Relieved? Homicidal?

“Supreme Leader Snoke, may he live a thousand years, chose in his wisdom to send me in place of Crown Prince Kylo Ren, Your Highness,” Finn says. _Because I’m expendable_ , he doesn’t add aloud, but he thinks War Princess Rey hears it anyway.

“Cethriee?” she asks. The tall, slender man in a copper-colored tunic behind her right shoulder bows a little, oddly stiff.

“The treaty called for the Empire to send _a_ prince, Highness,” he says dryly, “but did not specify by name which prince it should be, as we did not think there _was_ more than one prince.”

War Princess Rey raises an inquiring eyebrow at Finn, who swallows hard. “Master...ah...Cethriee is entirely correct, Your Highness,” he says, certain now that at any moment he will be struck down, his head taken to be mounted on a pike behind her throne. “When the treaty was signed, only Crown Prince Kylo Ren held that rank. I was elevated to it so as to be eligible to fulfil the treaty’s requirements.”

“And what was your rank _before_ that time?” War Princess Rey inquires coldly.

“I was a knight, and a member of the prince’s bodyguard,” Finn says, and braces himself for death.

“Huh,” War Princess Rey says. “That fucking coward.” She waves her free hand at Finn as though brushing away a fly. “Not you. Kylo.” She cocks her head to one side, looking Finn up and down, then shrugs. “Cethriee?”

“Technically, it is within the letter of the treaty,” her advisor says. War Princess Rey nods curtly.

“Well then. Welcome, Prince Finn Ren of the Empire, to Jakku.” War Princess Rey gives Finn a shallow little bow, and Finn realizes he can start breathing again. Apparently he isn’t going to die _just_ yet.

*

There is a tall grey mare waiting for Finn, next to the War Princess’s sand-colored stallion, and the young woman holding both sets of reins looks Finn up and down and says, “You’re not Kylo Ren.”

“No,” Finn agrees.

“He’s Finn,” War Princess Rey says, swinging up onto her tall stallion without apparent effort, and taking the reins from the young woman. “Because Kylo is too much of a coward to face me.”

“I see,” the young woman says, and gives Finn a long look, dark eyes unreadable, then hands him the grey mare’s reins. “I’m Rose, the princess’s armorer,” she says. “We’ll be seeing a lot of each other - at least for the next few days.”

Finn swallows hard. “I suppose we will,” he says, and mounts the grey mare, which whickers at him in an amiable manner. At least _one_ creature in this land doesn’t want him dead.

They travel all that day, at a pace just short of punishing - Finn doesn’t complain, he’s spent longer days in the saddle, at worse paces, though not many and not recently - and make camp that night on a hill above well-tended fields. This is the province of Yavin, Finn knows, having studied the maps of the Kingdom of Jakku endlessly, and it’s the breadbasket of the kingdom, fertile and pleasant as any paradise. The queen’s daughter, though, comes from a different province: Tatooine, the desert, where the sun will slay a man in hours if he is not wise enough to seek shelter, and the wind-blown sand will strip the flesh from his bones.

Finn isn’t surprised that such a desert breeds such women as his betrothed.

He _is_ surprised that there’s a tent for him, beside War Princess Rey’s, and that he’s given the second-best place beside the fire and served second from the communal pot. The honors are entirely unexpected.

And when everything has been cleared away, and the various servants and guards have retreated to their bedrolls or to maintain a perimeter, and the only people still around the fire are Finn and War Princess Rey and Rose, behind her, brushing out the war princess’s long brown hair, War Princess Rey looks Finn over thoughtfully and says, “So. Tell me of yourself, prince who used to be a knight.”

Finn blinks. “There’s not much to tell,” he says. “I was an orphan, raised in the creche, and I showed an aptitude for war; so Duke Hux took me as a squire, and when I had earned my spurs I was knighted. I’ve been in the prince’s bodyguard since then.”

“What did you do to earn your spurs? It must have been impressive, for you to end up in the prince’s bodyguard right away,” Rose says, peering curiously over War Princess Rey’s shoulder.

Finn takes a deep breath, remembering that day - almost six years ago now - and the too-quiet mountain pass, and the sudden terrible echoing ululation of the Hothian battle cry. “There was...an ambush,” he says slowly. “The prince’s party was traveling through Hoth, and Duke Hux was with them, so I was along as well; and the Hothians attacked while we were trapped in a narrow pass.”

“I have fought Hothians,” War Princess Rey says. “They are very doughty warriors.”

“So they are,” Finn agrees. “I was...wounded, but I stood in defence of the duke and the prince, and at length our superior numbers won out; and when I had healed of my wounds, I was knighted, and made a member of the prince’s bodyguard.”

“Wounded?” War Princess Rey inquires.

“A spear,” Finn says, rubbing absently at the old scar, remembering the shock and terrible cold pain of it as the slender spear passed entirely through his shoulder to pin him to the wagon, the half-instinctive way he’d lunged forward, tearing himself away and worsening the wound, the way the blood soaked his arm and dripped crimson onto the hard-packed snow. He’d fought despite it - fought well, too, stayed between his duke and the advancing Hothians with his sword in his hand and cut down many of them, only collapsing himself when they finally broke and ran. He’d almost died, the healers told him when he woke, of blood loss and exertion. But he’d lived, and earned his spurs.

“Huh,” War Princess Rey says, eyeing Finn with an odd expression. “Interesting. Then why did Kylo choose _you_ as his sacrificial double?”

Finn tries not to flinch too much at ‘sacrificial.’ “A year ago,” he says, “you defeated the prince in single combat.”

“And it is my greatest regret that I did not slay him, yes,” War Princess Rey says, baring her teeth in a fierce snarl. They gleam in the firelight. “What of it?”

“I was not there - I had been wounded some little time earlier, in battle against the Dathomirians, and was recovering in the capital,” Finn says. “I was on light duty, standing guard in the throne room among the Supreme Leader’s guards, and I was therefore the only one of the prince’s bodyguard to witness the Supreme Leader’s...anger at his heir’s failure to defeat you.”

“You saw him humiliated, and now he wants you dead,” War Princess Rey sums up. “Huh. Fucking coward. Him, not you.”

Finn should probably attempt to defend the honor of his prince, but...blunt though her words are, War Princess Rey isn’t _wrong_. Finn was there when the treaty was presented to the Supreme Leader, after all, and the prince clearly never had any intention of actually following the spirit of it. In his private quarters afterwards, looking over his bodyguards to choose which one would be the sacrifice, he’d said aloud that he had no intention of facing ‘that demon girl’ in single combat ever again.

Having spent most of an a day observing her, Finn’s pretty sure _he’s_ not going to enjoy facing her in the duelling ring. She moves with the self-contained grace of a warrior born, and there’s clearly a terrifying amount of strength in her slender form. But then, Finn’s not here to _win_ the upcoming duel. He’s here to die so Prince Kylo Ren doesn’t have to.

“So you’ve fought Hothians and Dathomirians,” Rose says, frowning at Finn over War Princess Rey’s shoulder. “Have you ever fought _our_ people?”

“No,” Finn says, quite truthfully. “Bodyguards don’t go to war without the prince.”

“And the only time Kylo actually _came_ to the war, you were laid up back at the capitol,” War Princess Rey says. Finn nods. “Hm. So none of my people’s blood is on your hands.”

“No,” Finn says.

“ _Hm_ ,” War Princess Rey says, and then yawns and stands, pulling her armorer to her feet easily. “Goodnight, Prince Finn.”

“Goodnight, Your Highness,” Finn says, and wonders if the fact that she’s giving _him_ the title he’s only just been laden with, when she refers to the crown prince by his bare name alone, is a good sign or very, very bad.

*

Finn didn’t bring much baggage with him - at most three days of life doesn’t require a lot of preparation, after all - but it’s all laid out tidily in the tent that’s been set aside for him, and there’s a boy of maybe thirteen standing beside a basin of steaming water. Finn blinks at him.

“I’m Beebee, Highness,” the boy says. “I’m to be your valet while we travel!”

“...My thanks,” Finn says, a bit awkwardly. He’s never had a valet. What does one do?

“Will you be wanting to wash, Highness?” Beebee asks eagerly. “I have put a hot stone in your bedroll, and I have laid out your clothing for tomorrow - and I have boot-polish -”

Finn raises a hand to stop the flow of words. Honesty’s kept him alive this far, so he’ll just...stick with that. “I’ve never had a valet, and I am accustomed to caring for my own clothes,” he says gently, “but a wash sounds _wonderful_ , and I thank you for it.”

“Never had a valet?” Beebee asks, frowning confusion as Finn shucks his tunic. “But - you’re a prince!”

“I was made a prince...five days ago,” Finn says wryly, taking one of the clean cloths laid out beside the basin and soaking it, then beginning to wipe the travel-dust and fear-sweat from his skin. “Before that, I was only a knight, and we of the prince’s bodyguard shared three servants between us, to tidy our rooms and bring us meals. I never had a squire, either.”

“Why not, Highness?” Beebee asks, wide-eyed, staring at the scar on Finn’s shoulder. “You must be a very fine warrior, to be bodyguard to a prince! Wouldn’t everyone want to be your squire?”

Finn chuckles at the artless question. “I have no family name, no wealth, and no particular fame,” he says. “I was an orphan, raised to knighthood by the grace of Duke Hux; no noble child would wish to serve so low-born a master. I had thought that perhaps in the future I might take another orphan child to be my page, and later my squire, but…” he shrugs. “Obviously that’s not going to happen now.”

“It might!” Beebee says. “I’m sure there will be a _lot_ of people who will want to be squire to a prince!”

Finn can’t quite bear to squash the boy’s eager smile with the blunt truth that he’s not going to _live_ long enough to take a squire. “Perhaps,” he says. “Are you going to be a squire, when you’re old enough?”

“Yes,” Beebee says joyfully. “Sir Poe said he’d take me as his squire, and he’s the _best_ knight in all of Jakku!”

“Sir Poe...Dameron?” Finn guesses. He’s studied the famous knights of Jakku, of course, and the only one named Poe is Dameron, but this cheerful child might be exaggerating his sponsor’s prowess.

“Yes!” Beebee crows. “You’ve heard of him?”

“I think everyone’s heard of him,” Finn says dryly. Certainly after the battle of Starkiller Base, where Sir Poe Dameron had led the finest cavalry charge that’s been seen in _centuries_ , and broken the walls of the theoretically-impenetrable citadel, and with them the last true chance for the Empire to defeat War Queen Leia and her forces. “You’re very lucky to be chosen as his squire; you must be quite a talented young man.”

“I’m the best shot with a bow in my page class,” Beebee boasts, “and second-best with a sword!”

“Then I am honored to have so doughty a page as my valet,” Finn says, smiling fondly down at the boy, and Beebee puffs up with pride and gathers the half-emptied basin and dirtied cloths into his arms.

“I’ll be back with your breakfast, Highness, unless you need anything else tonight?” he chirps.

“No, thank you, breakfast will be perfectly suitable,” Finn says, and flops back on the bed once the boy is gone. It’s a kind gesture for War Princess Rey - or, more likely, Master Cethriee - to have assigned Finn a valet for the few days he will be with them, but it seems cruel to have chosen _this_ child, so bright-eyed and cheerful, to serve a man who is going to die so soon.

Finn is exhausted from fear and travel, but he sits up after a few moments anyway, and changes into the nightclothes Beebee laid out for him, and polishes his boots and tends his weapons, the same ritual he has observed every night since he was taken as Duke Hux’s squire, save for those nights that he was drugged by the healers into unconsciousness. His back aches a little - all that riding must have pulled at the scar - but it’s a quiet ache that will be gone by morning, and Finn has done his nightly chores through far worse pain than _that_.

Perhaps he’ll ask War Princess Rey if she’ll allow him to leave his weapons to Beebee. The squire to Sir Poe Dameron will need good weapons, and Finn’s are the best he could buy, made by the finest armorers in Kuat, beautiful water-steel and plain, hard-wearing leather-wrapped hilts. It would be good to know they’d be going to someone who would use and appreciate them.

His boots and weapons tended, Finn snuffs out the lantern, stretches out on the surprisingly comfortable cot - his own travel cot, back in the Empire, was frankly almost _worse_ than sleeping on the ground - and stares up at the canvas of the tent, barely visible in the flickering light of the fire outside. So. He’s lived through his first day in War Princess Rey’s company. Very likely he’ll live through the next two, as well.

And then on the night of the full moon, he’ll be married to War Princess Rey, and fight her in the duelling ring, and die. Finn is a fine knight, one of the best warriors in the Empire, but War Princess Rey is - well, if even half of the rumors are even half right, she’s so far beyond him in skill that it’s not even going to be a contest.

Well. Finn always knew he was going to die in battle. At least this way he’ll be winning the Empire, the poor foot-soldiers and the weary border-folk who suffer worst in any war, a little space of peace.


	2. Day Two

Finn wakes with the dawn, as he has pretty much all his life, and is dressed by the time Beebee rings the bell outside the tent and calls, “Highness? I’ve brought your breakfast.”

“Come in,” Finn says, and smiles at the boy when he enters. The tray of food Beebee is carrying is almost as large as the boy is. “Have _you_ eaten?”

“Yes, Highness!” Beebee says cheerfully. “Master Cethriee says pages serve better when they’re full of food than when they’re hungry. We’ll be packing up the camp and heading out in a turn of the glass, sir.”

“Thank you,” Finn says, and Beebee bobs a little bow and goes darting out of the tent, leaving Finn with quite a lot of surprisingly good food - hotcakes and fresh fruit and a mug of something that smells _divine_ and tastes even better.

Finn isn’t sure where to bring his dishes when he’s done, but when he steps out of the tent to ask, Beebee goes hurrying in past him, followed by three other children of about the same age, so Finn leaves them to it and goes to make his courtesies to the war princess. She is standing beside the fire with a mug of what Finn suspects is the same sweet, rich drink he had with breakfast, and gives him a surprisingly amiable nod when he approaches her.

“Highness, I give you good morning,” Finn says, bowing a little.

“And to you,” War Princess Rey says. “We will be riding pretty hard until noon today.” She wrinkles her nose, an astonishingly adorable expression. “We were _expecting_ to have the ceremony just outside Yavin Port, when we thought you’d be Kylo, but since you’re not, Mother would like to meet you.”

Finn swallows hard. War Queen Leia wants to meet him? “Then we are bound for Alderaan?” he asks, naming the capital city of the Kingdom of Jakku.

“Yes,” War Princess Rey confirms. “We should be there by midday if the weather holds fine.”

Finn has seen maps of Jakku, of course, and he knows Alderaan is fairly near the coast, beside the great river that winds through the province of Yavin and accounts for much of the land’s fertility. A day and a half’s hard riding seems about right, given the quality of horses available to the war princess and her retinue. He nods a little awkwardly, and War Princess Rey nods back and finishes her drink as the tents come down under the industrious attentions of the pages and servants.

Finn rides beside War Princess Rey as the party goes thundering down the road towards Alderaan, and he can’t help stealing glimpses at her as they go. Her hair is braided up tightly, though not in the elaborate crown braid of yesterday, just in a single long plait that flies out behind her in the wind. Finn thinks there might be spikes braided into it. Her cheeks are flushed with exertion, and she wears a fierce grin, clearly delighted by the speed and strength of her tall sand-colored stallion.

She is _very_ beautiful.

She’s also not quite what Finn expected. Of course, he expected to be slain on sight, since he’s not Crown Prince Kylo Ren and is therefore not who War Princess Rey was waiting for, but also, she’s...blunt, yes, utterly undiplomatic in her speech, but not _cruel._ Not at all the ruthless, merciless demon-goddess that the Empire’s rumors paint her. Finn has no trouble believing that she will slay him during the duel - she _is_ clearly a warrior without peer, and one who has no hesitations about slaying those who she considers her enemies - but he is starting to doubt some of the nastier stories about her, the ones that made her out to be somehow inhuman in her whims and will.

He’d like to have more time to learn who War Princess Rey _truly_ is. Unfortunately, he isn’t going to get it.

*

They top a hill just before noon and see Alderaan spread out before them, the great city sprawling out for leagues on either side of a broad, swift-flowing river. It’s a beautiful city, Finn is somewhat surprised to see. Coruscant, the capital of the Empire, is all tall imposing stone buildings and grime, and always seems cold even in the middle of summer. Alderaan, by stark contrast, is all low buildings of brick and wood and warm-gold stone, with winding streets - good for defense against invaders, Finn notes absently - and an air of such bustle and amiable commotion that it is immediately welcoming.

“Home,” Rose sighs, behind him.

“Home,” War Princess Rey agrees. “Come on, then.”

She leads the way down the hill at a rather more comfortable pace, and the crowds part before them. Finn is blankly astonished to see the common folk and merchants turning to wave at War Princess Rey, bowing or curtseying and calling cheerful, welcoming greetings. No one _waves_ to Crown Prince Kylo Ren. They get the hell out of his way and keep their heads down and their children close, and hope he’s not in a bad mood. But here the children crowd forward, calling War Princess Rey’s name and waving eagerly, and she waves back with a broad, sweet smile, calling cheerful greetings in return.

“Who’s he?” one small child on her father’s shoulders yells, and War Princess Rey replies, “Prince Finn, to bring us peace.”

And then they start cheering _Finn_.

Finn gapes for a long moment, unable to master his expression, then gets himself under control and waves tentatively to the children. Several of them squeak and jump in place, waving back frantically. It’s terrifyingly endearing.

And it goes on the whole way up through the winding streets to the palace: cheerful greetings, waving children, and laughter. Even during the Imperial Festival, Coruscant _never_ looks like this. Which is...depressing. This is really very nice.

Clearly, War Queen Leia and her heir are doing something right.

*

Finn is shown to rooms in the palace - in the royal wing, no less, though he suspects that there will be extra guards on duty for the duration of his stay - and given a little time to bathe and change his clothes before Beebee leads him to the Small Dining Room - “Just for family meals, and then there’s the Formal Dining Hall for feasts,” Beebee explains - and leaves him at the door.

Finn takes a deep breath, nods to the solemn-faced guards on either side of the doorway, and steps in.

Somewhat to his surprise, there are only three people in the room: War Princess Rey, with her hair done up in a crown again; an older woman, short and sharp-eyed, with her hair in a matching braid; and an older man with a full, grey-streaked beard and a soft smile. “Mother,” War Princess Rey says formally, “I present to you Prince Finn of the Empire. Prince Finn, my mother, War Queen Leia, and my uncle, Peace King Luke.”

Finn bows deeply, mind racing. _Peace_ King? He’s never heard of that rank. “Majesties,” he says.

“Welcome,” War Queen Leia says as he straightens, and gestures to the empty chair. “Come and sit; luncheon will be brought in momentarily.”

Peace King Luke smiles a little more broadly as Finn sits down. “You were surprised, I think, by my introduction?” he says mildly.

“Ah...yes, Majesty,” Finn says.

“It’s the tradition, here in Jakku, to have two monarchs,” War Queen Leia says. “One for war, and one for peace. Since the Empire has been at war with us for so long…”

“I’ve only ever heard of you, Majesty,” Finn says, nodding in understanding.

“Traditionally,” Peace King Luke says, “the peace monarchs concern themselves with domestic issues and trade, while the war monarchs concern themselves with the military. Leia has, regrettably, been very busy these last fifteen years.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” War Queen Leia says. “In better times, the war monarch has a far easier position than the peace monarch.”

Finn considers that, thinking about the way _everything_ has to go through Supreme Leader Snoke, the way the Supreme Leader is good at some things and - to be perfectly honest - absolutely terrible at others. “That sounds like a very sensible method of governance, Majesties, and helps explain the great prosperity and joy of your people,” he says at last, which earns him three approving looks. “Then War Princess Rey is _your_ heir, Majesty?” he adds, bowing a little to War Queen Leia.

“Precisely,” War Queen Leia says. “My brother, alas, has as yet no heir.”

“One will turn up eventually,” Peace King Luke says mildly.

Finn is saved from having to come up with something to say - and no doubt saying the _wrong_ thing - by the arrival of a small parade of servants bearing trays of food, and manages to apply himself with polite enthusiasm to the delicious array set out in front of him and avoid any more discussion of politics. War Princess Rey is apparently not much for conversation during meals, and War Queen Leia and Peace King Luke chat quietly with each other about an upcoming festival at which they will both need to appear - nothing to do with Finn at all.

When the meal is over, War Princess Rey bounces to her feet. “Come along,” she says to Finn. “I’ll show you around the palace and the city.”

“Yes, Highness,” Finn says, and rises to follow her, rather confused. Why on earth would she choose to spend time showing him around? It’s not as though he’s going to find the information terribly useful while he’s _dead_.

*

“The heirs have their own throne room, separate from the monarchs’,” War Princess Rey says cheerfully as she leads the way through the wide, well-lit halls of the palace. “It’s just mine at the moment, since I don’t have a counterpart.” She stops at a set of broad doors, one inlaid with a design of twining vines and flowers, the other with a geometric design which turns out, on closer look, to be made up of every kind of weapon Finn has ever seen or imagined. She pushes the weapon-door open and leads Finn in.

There are two thrones at the head of the room, one of them draped in green, the other bare stone. Behind the unadorned throne are five long pikes in stands, four of them holding grisly, terrible trophies.

Finn is rather impressed by the skills of the local embalmers, as there is no smell of decay, and the heads are still quite...distressingly recognizable.

The fifth pike, directly behind the throne, is empty. Finn swallows hard, staring at the weapon’s gleaming tip, dreadfully sure that in a few days, _his_ head will hold pride of place in this terrible display.

“That one’s for Kylo,” War Princess Rey says, seeming not to have noticed Finn’s dismay. “I _thought_ I’d have a chance to put it there shortly, but I guess I’ll have to wait until the damned Empire breaks the treaty.” She turns, and sees Finn’s expression. “Surely you don’t think Kylo and Snoke are _actually_ going to keep their words?”

Finn wants to object - wants to say that they signed the treaty and they’ll abide by it - wants to defend the honor of the Empire. But.

But they sent _him_ , which was a breach of the spirit if not the letter of the treaty, and Finn is, honestly, no sort of hostage. Jakku might have been able to use Crown Prince Kylo Ren as a surety of good behavior, if War Princess Rey chose not to kill him in the duelling ring, since Supreme Leader Snoke _might_ hesitate before getting his heir slain. But Finn? Finn is worthless to the Supreme Leader he has served, the prince he has defended. They won’t go to war to avenge his death, but they also won’t _avoid_ war in order to preserve his life. Frankly, they’ve probably already forgotten he exists.

“No,” he says sadly. “I don’t.”

War Princess Rey looks at him for a long moment, expression utterly unreadable. “But you’re here anyway,” she says at last.

“I swore an oath,” Finn says mildly. “Just because my lords are -” he pauses, takes a deep breath, says the words he’s never dared to say or even _think_ before - “are honorless, does not mean I am too.”

“Hm,” War Princess Rey says. “What oath did you swear?”

Finn considers this. “When I was younger,” he says at last, “I swore to serve my prince and my Supreme Leader to the fullest of my ability, and so I have done. Scant days ago, I swore to marry you in accordance with the treaty, and so uphold the peace between our peoples - an oath which I was told by prince and Supreme Leader alike outweighed all others that I ever swore.”

“Hm,” War Princess Rey says again. “At moonrise, one full night and day from now, you will swear your honor and fidelity to me, and so fulfil the treaty and your oath. Will you hold _that_ oath true, as you have these?”

“I will,” Finn says. “So long as I have breath within me.” Fidelity isn’t going to be terribly difficult for the few moments between marriage ceremony and duelling ring, after all. But - even if he _were_ to live, he’d keep his oath. He has no family name, no great reputation, no heirs; all Finn has in the world is his honor, and so _that_ , at least, he’ll keep intact, so long as he’s alive.

“I believe you,” War Princess Rey says, sounding oddly...speculative? And then she claps her hands briskly and whirls, quarterstaff slung over her shoulder hissing through the air, to lead the way out of the lesser throne room.

*

Finn follows War Princess Rey down into the city, slightly baffled when she collects only two bodyguards and Beebee on the way out of the palace. Crown Prince Kylo Ren never leaves his _quarters_ without at least four guards. But War Princess Rey seems perfectly comfortable with just the two, and they don’t seem distressed at all by not having any further backup.

It makes more sense once they reach the first great market square. When Crown Prince Kylo Ren goes out into the city, people draw away from him, look away, look down, _cringe_. War Princess Rey is greeted, instead, with immense good cheer.

“I’ve a new cheese in from past Kuat,” the young lady behind the counter of the first stall War Princess Rey approaches says happily. “Would you like to try, Highness?”

War Princess Rey grins broadly and accepts a little cube of blue-veined cheese, and Finn watches in bafflement as she takes a bite without any hesitation, then hums in pleasure. “Oh, there’s a good bite to that, Paige,” she says. “Beebee, take a note, I’m going to want to order quite a lot of this for the kitchens - though perhaps not for formal court meals.”

“Aye, Highness!” Beebee chirps, and jots down a few words on the slate he is - Finn realizes - clearly carrying for just this purpose.

And then War Princess Rey turns to Finn. “Would you like to try it?” she asks. Finn blinks and nods.

“With miss...Paige’s permission, certainly, Highness,” he says, a little awkwardly.

“My pleasure!” Paige says, and hands Finn another little cube of cheese. Finn can hardly hesitate in eating it when War Princess Rey didn’t, so he pops the whole thing in his mouth, and his eyes go wide as the flavor hits.

“...Gracious,” he says after a moment. “That’s _strong_.”

“So it is,” War Princess Rey says, vastly amused. Finn is used to the fairly bland food the prince’s bodyguards are served in the common mess, if they don’t care to buy better, and that cheese is by far the most vividly flavored thing he’s had in months.

“Come along, then,” she adds briskly, and heads for the next stall in line. This one isn’t food but cloth, and the stallkeeper _doesn’t_ give the War Princess anything, just spreads out a piece of very fine undyed linen for her to look at.

“Yes,” War Princess Rey says after a moment, running her fingers over the cloth. “Beebee, take a note; I’ll want - hm - nine yards of it, Mother’s been saying I need a few new shifts.”

“Aye, Highness!” Beebee says happily, jotting it down.

And then on to the next stall, where War Princess Rey samples honey and makes little happy noises of appreciation but doesn’t order anything because apparently the palace has a standing order already (and Finn is also given a little droplet of honey to taste, and thinks it goes most surprisingly well with the lingering flavor of the cheese); and the next, where War Princess Rey makes admiring noises about the knives on display and Finn has to admit they’re as good as he’s ever seen, barring Kuati water steel; and the next, where the stallkeeper greets them with a laugh and a slice of cake for the War Princess that’s nearly as broad as Finn’s hand. War Princess Rey laughs, too, and hands the stallkeeper a silver coin, then digs into the cake with unfeigned glee.

“Kes makes the finest cake in the world,” she informs Finn. “Have some!”

The stallkeeper, still chuckling, offers Finn a second plate, and Finn digs a silver coin from his beltpouch and offers it in return.

“No, no, first taste is free,” the stallkeeper says merrily. “Then you keep coming back, see? It’s a koyo-fruit cake, with fruit from my father’s farm.”

Awkwardly, Finn takes a bite, and is quite taken aback by the involuntary moan that rises from his throat. He swallows the bite and says, quite sincerely, “This is the _best thing_ I have ever eaten.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Kes says, grinning even more broadly, and hands a third slice to Beebee, who sits down against the front of the stall and devours it gleefully. “Highness, a full cake up to the palace for tonight, then?”

“Yes, please,” War Princess Rey says, nodding. “I promise I’ll even share this one.”

“Will you now,” Kes laughs, and War Princess Rey finishes her slice - several bites ahead of Finn, who is rather astonished at how _rich_ the cake is - and licks her lips.

“Probably,” she says, joyful and unrepentant, and leaves Kes chuckling as she heads for the next stall in line. Finn finishes his cake in one rather too-large bite and follows her, marveling. This...this friendly atmosphere, this air of joking pleasure between princess and people, is so new and odd that he isn’t sure how to deal with it.

Not that he’s going to have to deal with it for long.

*

War Princess Rey spends the rest of the afternoon in the markets, Finn trailing along behind her. His sense of bafflement has pretty much peaked, and now he mostly just feels...awed, really. War Princess Rey’s people _love_ her, and do not fear her, and it’s...it’s so incredibly different from everything Finn has learned to expect, everything his twenty-three years of experience with the Empire has taught him is the normal order of things, that he doesn’t know how to cope with it, other than following along in War Princess Rey’s wake and watching her in awe.

They get back to the palace just as dusk is falling - the streets of Alderaan are lined with lamp-posts, and Finn watches a lamplighter in a little cart going along with a long pole and lifting each lantern down, lighting it, and replacing it, and thinks that having something like that would do _wonders_ for Coruscant, which becomes a deadly maze at night. Alderaan’s streets are a lot _cleaner_ than the streets in Coruscant, too: Finn has seen half a dozen little carts go by in the course of the afternoon, with the drivers hopping out every few feet to pick up horse droppings and other litter. It seems that someone - probably a peace monarch, Finn is guessing - has spent some serious time considering ways to make life easier and safer for the people of Jakku, and then implementing the best ideas.

It probably costs the monarchy a reasonable amount of money, which is money that can’t be used for fancy parties or new armor or other luxuries. Finn tries to imagine Prince Kylo Ren deciding to give up yet another all-black stallion to add to the dozen he already has in his stables, in favor of making life a little easier for someone else, and has to suppress a rather bitter laugh. War Princess Rey gives him an odd look, and Finn shakes his head.

“Just an odd thought,” he says, and she nods.

“How do you like Alderaan, then?” she asks.

“It’s beautiful,” Finn says, quite honestly. “And your people are very friendly.”

War Princess Rey grimaces a little. “We managed to keep the war fairly far from Alderaan,” she says softly. “Out on the borders, though, you’d get a less welcoming reception.”

“Ah,” Finn says. “Well, I can’t really blame them.”

“No,” War Princess Rey says, grimly. “Not after the sack of New Hosnian.”

Finn winces. The sack of New Hosnian - the first and only major engagement the Empire won - was, by all accounts, an abomination and a horror. Hux the Younger presided over it, and was given a commendation from Supreme Leader Snoke himself, but Finn has seen the reports, and he knows that it was - unforgivable. If he’d been there -

Well, if he’d been there, Finn would probably be dead, because vows or no vows, there’s no way he could have stood aside and let such atrocities be done in front of him without trying to stop them. And he couldn’t have actually _stopped_ them, not without killing Hux the Younger and probably not even then. An army given leave - given _orders_ \- to sack a city is almost impossible to bring back under control.

“You weren’t there,” War Princess Rey says after a long moment.

“No,” Finn says quietly. “I was with the prince on his progress.” Long, boring days of riding along, keeping his eyes constantly peeled for assassins or saboteurs, watching the people of every town and city they passed go down on their knees and grovel, listening to the prince give gloating, cruel speeches in every city. The day they received the news of New Hosnian, from a weary messenger on a lathered horse, the prince had spent three hours picking apart every detail, seemingly unable to decide between pleasure at the victory and annoyance that it came at the hands of Hux the Younger. Finn had managed to keep his composure until he went off duty, and then he’d been quite comprehensively sick in the inn’s rather appalling privy, and had to plead food poisoning to get the captain of the bodyguard to stop giving him suspicious looks.

War Princess Rey says, “If you had been there, I would have killed you on the docks, and to hell with the treaty.”

Finn meets her eyes calmly, and says, “If I had been there, you would have been right to do so.”

War Princess Rey considers this, head cocked a little to one side, and then she nods. “Beebee will help you find your rooms again,” she says. “Dinner’s in an hour. Full court dress.”

“Yes, Highness,” Finn says, and she nods again and vanishes into the palace. Finn looks down at Beebee with a crooked smile.

“Lead on, then,” he says, and Beebee grins and does.

*

Finn has a set of court clothing, because he does believe in being prepared for even the most unlikely eventualities, and he lets Beebee help him dress because the boy is so eager to do so. Then he follows Beebee through the palace’s well-lit corridors to the Formal Dining Hall. The doors stand open, and the herald waiting there bows a little to him and then turns to cry, trained voice echoing through the whole huge, crowded hall, “Prince Finn Ren of the Empire!”

Finn walks into a sudden hush, and swallows hard at the sight of dozens of flat, unamused expressions, angry cold eyes. No one in this room has any love for the Empire, and Finn - alone, unarmed, and out of place - is very clearly _not_ welcome here.

And then War Princess Rey comes up to him and loops her arm through his and pulls him up towards the high table, and Finn follows her in a haze of confusion, while all around them the people at the long tables begin to murmur in startled bafflement.

War Queen Leia and Peace King Luke are waiting at the high table, with a tall older man Finn doesn’t recognize at War Queen Leia’s left hand and an open space beside Peace King Luke for War Princess Rey and Finn. There’s a remarkably handsome man maybe ten years older than Finn sitting on the other side of the open space, who grins cheerfully at Finn as Finn and the war princess take their seats.

“Hullo, Highness,” he says, once Finn has made the proper courtesies to Their Majesties and been greeted in turn. “I’m Poe Dameron.”

Finn’s eyes go wide. “Sir Dameron,” he says politely, taking a longer look at the best knight in the Kingdom of Jakku and possibly the Empire too. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Sir Poe grins even more broadly. “So I’m famous in the Empire too, am I?” he asks.

“You took down Starkiller Base,” Finn points out. “The Supreme Leader spent three hours straight cursing your name.”

“ _Nice_ ,” War Princess Rey says, reaching across behind Finn to clap Sir Poe on the shoulder. “How long did he curse _me_ , just for comparison purposes?”

Finn thinks about it. “The _Supreme Leader_ spent about four hours cumulative,” he says at last. “Prince Kylo Ren spent...hm...I should say about five times that, over the last six months.”

War Princess Rey bursts into delighted laughter. “ _Good_ ,” she says viciously.

“Damn, you beat me,” Sir Poe says, mock-ruefully. “I’ll have to think of something _really_ impressive to do.”

“More impressive than taking down Starkiller Base?” Finn asks, startled.

“Hey, being the finest knight in the kingdom takes _upkeep_ ,” Sir Poe says merrily - Finn is starting to suspect he does _everything_ merrily - and War Queen Leia looks down the table at them and sighs dramatically.

“Don’t do anything too reckless in the next...oh...day or two, alright, Dameron?” she asks, and Sir Poe gives her a graceful seated bow.

“As my Queen commands,” he says, and grins broadly. “But after that?”

“We’ll see,” the War Queen says dryly.

“So,” Sir Poe says, turning back to Finn, “how’d you get tapped to marry Her Deadliness?”

War Princess Rey laughs. Finn swallows hard. “I pissed off Prince Kylo Ren,” he says at last.

“Huh,” Sir Poe says, and nods approvingly. “Well, welcome to the club! I keep asking the Sun’s Rey over here to let me get us some badges, but she seems to think that’d be a bad idea.”

War Princess Rey is still laughing, having to lean her head on her hand to stay upright, and Sir Poe gives Finn a rakish grin, apparently very pleased with himself. Finn...honestly isn’t quite sure how to respond. Finally he says, “What would the badges look like?”

“Hm,” says Sir Poe, looking extremely pleased that Finn is playing along. “Not sure, I never got that far. Kylo Ren’s head on a pike, maybe?”

War Princess Rey collapses against Finn’s shoulder and laughs so hard she cries. Finn sits there, baffled beyond measure, and tries to figure out if at _any_ point in any of his etiquette lessons they covered what to do when the deadliest woman in the world is laughing herself sick on your shoulder. He doesn’t think they did.

*

Finn lies awake for a long time that night - his last night alive - in that odd state of being too tired to sleep that he’s always hated. By the end of dinner he was actually laughing along with Sir Poe’s jokes, and it was - weird, and good, and painful. Even among the prince’s bodyguard, Finn never felt a fraction of the joyful camaraderie he shared this evening, with Sir Poe and even with War Princess Rey, who kept giggling all evening and once ended up clinging to Finn’s arm hard enough to leave bruises so she wouldn’t fall entirely out of her chair. It’s - Finn can’t help imagining what it would have been like to be born in _Jakku_ , to grow up among these kind, joyful people, to maybe have become a knight under Sir Poe’s command and fight at War Princess Rey’s orders and know he was on the right side of the war. To have felt free to tell jokes to make his companions laugh. To have looked forward to years at their sides, protecting them and laughing with them and basking in their affection.

To have dared to fall in love, with bright-burning War Princess Rey and her flashing eyes and wiry strength, with Sir Poe and his easy laughter and reckless courage. It would be _easy_ , Finn knows, to fall for either of them - hells, to fall for _both_.

But Finn has another maybe twenty-four hours to live - maybe less - and then he will be _dead_. Fallen down on the earth of the duelling ring, with his heart’s blood turning the fertile soil to mud.

He should ask War Princess Rey if he can leave his weapons to Beebee. If she’ll be kind enough to have his body burnt, as is the custom in the Empire, and the ashes scattered. Maybe in the river, below the city, so that he’ll reach the sea eventually. That might be nice. Not that Finn expects he’ll care.

He’ll be dead, and his name with him, and in five years, if he’s lucky, maybe three people in the whole world will remember he even _existed_ , and one of them will be Master Cethriee, who will doubtless have filed the notice of his death beside the signed copy of the treaty.

Finn rolls over and buries his face in the very nice pillows, and tries to ignore the fact that there are a few, hot, shameful tears staining the fabric. He knew he was going to die when he was _given_ this task. The fact that he has been given a glimpse of the way life _could_ have been - of all the things he’ll be losing even the _chance_ of having - makes no difference. He doesn’t _actually_ have any of those things - friendship, respect, love - they are as far out of his reach now as they were in the Empire. He just knows what they _look_ like, now.

Knows that he wants them, and will never have them.

Well. He has his honor, and he’ll do his duty. And that will have to be enough.


	3. Day Three

Finn wakes in the morning to a gentle rapping at his bedroom door, and sits up in mild confusion. “Come in?” he calls, and Beebee comes scampering in with a tray of breakfast, followed by three brawny servants with a hip-bath full of water that they place before the fire.

“The tailors would like to see you once you’ve dined, Highness,” Beebee chirps.

“The tailors?” Finn asks, baffled again.

“For your wedding clothing, Highness!” Beebee explains, and Finn thinks about saying aloud that it seems a pity to have new clothing made just for him to _die_ in and then decides not to. The child will be hurt enough by his death without Finn rubbing it in.

“I see,” he says instead, and bathes and eats - the drink is that same sweet, rich stuff from the day before, and Finn savors every drop - and puts on his only clean set of clothes, and follows Beebee out through the maze of the palace to a broad, well-lit room where half a dozen tailors and seamstresses are lying in wait.

Finn has been measured everywhere he _can_ be measured - and a few places he’s frankly dubious about - and is standing very still while cloth is pinned into place around him, when Rose comes into the room towing War Princess Rey by one arm.

“But I don’t _need_ to be re-measured,” War Princess Rey is saying, and Rose ignores her magnificently and drags her into place on another little dais, and another half-dozen tailors and seamstresses descend upon _her_. Finn meets War Princess Rey’s eyes across the middle of the room and is quite startled by the wry grin she gives him.

“I see you’ve been cornered too, then,” she says.

“Apparently I need a new -” Finn says, and glances down to see what’s being put together at the moment, and frowns in confusion. “Wardrobe?”

“Hm,” War Princess Rey says, sounding as satisfied as a cat in cream, and then, to one of the tailors, “Good gods, no, I don’t want anything in puce. Why would I?”

The tailor gives the war princess the look of a craftsman scorned, and for a few minutes War Princess Rey and Finn stand there in silence as their wedding clothes are built around them, but finally the seamstress overseeing Finn’s clothing says, “Hm, yes, you can take that off now,” and Finn very carefully peels the elaborate tunic off, trying not to stick himself with any pins. He’s not wearing an undershirt - that’s being sewn together over in a corner - and he hands the tunic to the seamstress and turns to see that War Princess Rey, and Rose next to her, are _both_ eyeing him with a great deal of interest.

“That’s the scar from the Hothians, isn’t it,” War Princess Rey says after a moment, nodding towards Finn’s shoulder. Finn nods.

“And the one on your back?” Rose asks curiously.

“Dathomir,” Finn says, shrugging a little. “Someone who gave parole and then didn’t keep it.”

“Pfeh,” War Princess Rey says disgustedly. “Coward. Him, not you.” She glances at the cluster of tailors and seamstresses, then gives Finn what he can only interpret as a conspiratorial look. “They’re busy, and our wedding outfits are pretty much done - want to make our escape?”

Finn blinks. “Lead on, Highness,” he says after a beat too long, and she laughs and leaps off the dais, taking his arm and towing him hastily out of the room as the tailors cry out in dismay and Rose guards their retreat. Finn manages to snatch up his discarded tunic as they go, and dons it hastily once they’re around a couple of corners.

She leads him out of the palace into a wide, walled garden, and flops down under a tree with a sigh, and Finn realizes suddenly and with something of a shock that she’s not carrying her quarterstaff. He thought she never put it down.

“Sit,” she says, grinning. “It’s too lovely a day to spend inside getting pins stuck in us.”

It is, in fact, a stunningly beautiful day, neither too warm nor too cold, with a brisk pleasant breeze and little puffy white clouds dancing across a sky so perfect a blue it looks nearly unnatural. Finn sits down under another tree, leaving a respectful space between them.

“What do you think of Jakku?” she asks after a while.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Finn says honestly. “Your people are happy and prosperous and love you; your land is fertile and well-tended; your monarchs are wise.”

“Huh,” War Princess Rey says. “What is Coruscant like?”

Finn considers this. At last he says, “It is...cold, even in summer, for no one dares let a stranger in to warm up at their fire, lest the stranger hear something which might be considered a foul word against the Supreme Leader, and gain by reporting it. It is ill-lit and ill-kempt, save for those ways the Crown Prince and the Supreme Leader are wont to take. There is very little laughter, and none of it kind. There is very little _trust_. The Supreme Leader thinks that trust is...weakness, I believe; certainly he has laughed often enough over the thought that _he_ should trust anyone at all.”

“Not even his bodyguards?” War Princess Rey asks curiously.

“No,” Finn says. “I was...I was rather better trusted than some, actually, because I had no family nor loved ones, and had been taken from the orphanage and lifted to the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards on nothing but my own merits. The Crown Prince and the Supreme Leader thought that, as I did not have any _reason_ to turn against them, and many to be...to be grateful, I would be loyal. But every man has his price.”

“Yes,” War Princess Rey says, lips twisting in a grimace. “And what is yours?”

Finn blinks. “My price?” he says, and shakes his head. “I - well.” He trails off awkwardly.

“Have you never had offers?” War Princess Rey asks shrewdly.

Finn sighs. “Several times, actually; the Crown Prince is not well beloved, and there were several people who made very...generous offers of wealth and power if I should happen to look the other way at a convenient moment.”

“But you did not,” War Princess Rey says, as surely as if she were there to see the events.

“No,” Finn says. “I -” He pauses, and then shrugs helplessly. “I have nothing to my name in this world except my honor, Highness, and so I place a very high price indeed on _that_.”

“Hm,” War Princess Rey says. She looks at him for a long moment, and Finn cannot read her expression at all. At last she says, “What would you do, if you were not a warrior?”

Finn leans back against the tree and watches the clouds for a while, thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he says at last. “I would like - I would like to train a squire, perhaps. Or be a master of pages - I like children, and I should like to teach, I think. Or if I was to be something _entirely_ outside of war - I rather think I would like to learn healing. The simple stuff, I mean, that those without a talent can master.”

“Why healing?” War Princess Rey asks curiously.

Finn looks down at his hands: broad, scarred, callused. A warrior’s hands, ungentle and accustomed only to slaughter. “I’ve killed...a lot of people,” he says at last. “Hothians and Dathomirians and people who came to assassinate the prince - I lost count somewhere, and I honestly don’t even know how many. That’s all I’ve ever brought to the world: death. I’d like - I’d have liked to make the world a little _better_ , somehow. To bring life into it.”

“I see,” War Princess Rey says, thoughtfully.

“Not that it matters,” Finn says, abruptly angry at the _cruelty_ in asking him these questions when he will never see another sunrise. “Highness, will you pardon me?”

“Of course,” War Princess Rey says, and Finn rises and leaves the garden, with her calm brown gaze resting on his back as tangible as sunlight, flees it as he has never fled a battle.

*

He gets lost, of course, in the maze of the palace, and is standing panting with suppressed anger and fear and dismay at his own discourtesy in a small chamber where four corridors come together - the floor is tiled in an intricate pattern that draws his eyes, and he finds himself calming as he traces its contours - when a soft noise from behind him makes him whirl, and he finds himself staring in astonishment at Peace King Luke, flanked by a pair of expressionless bodyguards.

“Prince Finn,” the monarch says after a moment. “Are you well?”

Finn gets his wits together with an effort and bows deeply. “Yes, Majesty, and my thanks for your asking,” he says. “I ask your pardon for intruding on you.”

“I rather think _I_ intruded on _you_ ,” Peace King Luke says, sounding rather amused. “If you are not otherwise occupied, will you walk with me a little?”

“It would be my honor, Majesty,” Finn says - because what else is he going to say? - and falls into step beside the king.

“Has my rather brash niece managed to offend you, then?” Peace King Luke asks after a few moments. Finn swallows hard.

“No, Majesty,” he says. “Nothing of the sort - she has been the very soul of courtesy, I assure you.”

“Has she?” Peace King Luke says, eyebrows rising. “Huh. And how do you find our kingdom, then?”

“It is very beautiful,” Finn says. “I cannot find a flaw in it.”

“Oh, there are flaws aplenty - we are human, after all,” Peace King Luke says amiably. “But it all seems to trundle along well enough, most days. Are we so different from the Empire, then?”

Finn tries to find a way to put into words the _vast_ difference between the two lands, and cannot. At last he shrugs helplessly. “I suppose it is treasonous to say so,” he says, “but I cannot help thinking that the common folk of the Empire would be far better off were _they_ to be conquered by _your_ folk, rather than the reverse, as the Supreme Leader so devoutly desires.”

“Huh,” Peace King Luke says, eyebrows going up again. “I do not know that we could govern so large a land as effectively as we do our current kingdom, all things being equal.”

Finn shakes his head. “That...is nothing I ever expected any monarch to say,” he admits.

“I think our division of labor - the peace monarch and the war monarch - teaches us humility,” Peace King Luke says thoughtfully. “We learn that we _cannot_ and are not expected to do everything, to _be_ everything, and so we learn what our limitations are. I would be a truly terrible war leader,” he adds with a soft chuckle, “and my sister has not the patience for the long council meetings and endless debates of peacetime ruling.”

“I know only little of the history of the kingdom,” Finn ventures. “How did this division come about?”

“Ah, well,” Peace King Luke says, smiling. “Some - oh - hundreds of years ago now, as our legends have it, the Queen of Naboo married the King of Jakku, and joined their kingdoms together. The Queen was a very wise woman, gentle as the dawn, and her people loved her for it; and the King was a very brave man, fierce as the noonday sun, and his people would have followed him into the very mouth of hell. So they agreed between them that the King would lead their armies, and use his talents where they shone best, upon the battlefield; and the Queen would tend their people, and use _her_ talents where they shone best, in the courtroom and the negotiating table.”

“Sensible,” Finn says, nodding.

“So,” Peace King Luke says, “the Queen, alas, was barren; but when they discovered this, the King declared that they should each adopt a child as like them as possible, and raise the child to be a true heir, either to war or to peace, and thus ensure that their legacy, if not their blood, should continue. And this was done; and that was the beginning of our tradition.” He shrugs. “My sister and I are the blood-children of Peace Queen Padme and War King Anakin, but that is actually rather unusual.” A shadow seems to pass across his face, and he adds, “My sister’s blood-son, Ben, was not suited to either role.”

“I...did not know Her Majesty had had a son,” Finn says cautiously, aware that he is treading on dangerous ground.

“It is a great grief to both of us,” Peace King Luke says quietly, pausing beside a window and looking out over the rolling fields beyond the palace walls. “Ben was...a bright child, clever and ambitious, but he had neither the patience to be Peace King nor the devotion to his people which is required of a War King.”

“War Princess Rey adores her people; that is plain for anyone with eyes to see,” Finn agrees.

“Precisely,” Peace King Luke says sadly. “Yet Ben...never quite learned to love our people more strongly than himself, which is a requirement for _both_ monarchs, and so when he was grown old enough to understand, my sister told him that he would not be king after either of us - that he was not suited to our thrones.” He pauses, so long that Finn begins to wonder if that is all he will hear of the tale, and then, very softly, Peace King Luke says, “You have met him, you know.”

“I have?” Finn asks, startled. “I have not met many people here in Jakku -”

“He is no longer in Jakku,” Peace King Luke says gravely. “You know him by another name.” He takes a deep breath, as though bracing himself for some great pain, and says, “These days, he goes by Kylo Ren.”

Finn’s jaw drops. “Crown Prince Kylo Ren?” he squeaks after a moment, appalled beyond words. How could anyone - _anyone_ , no matter how bitterly disappointed - leave Jakku willingly for the _Empire_? Worse yet, to turn _against_ Jakku, to lead armies against it, to desire only its downfall -

“Yes,” Peace King Luke says gravely.

Finn boggles a moment longer, and then remembers, with a sharp shock like a blow - “The War Princess was going to _kill_ him!”

“Yes,” Peace King Luke agrees. “Rey is clear-sighted, and ruthless when she needs to be, as a War Princess should be. You will note that the initial plan was for the...unhappy event to take place near Yavin Port, so that my sister could not be expected to attend.”

Attend her blood-son’s _death_ \- yes, Finn can see how that would be unpleasant. All gods witness, what must it be like to be leading armies against your own traitorous son? It’s no wonder that War Princess Rey, who has no blood-ties to Prince Kylo Ren, has been so much at the forefront of the war. _She_ , at least, need not fear she might hesitate at the worst possible moment.

“...But the Supreme Leader sent me instead,” Finn says slowly, and Peace King Luke smiles a little and reaches out to clap Finn on the shoulder.

“I rather think we have gotten the better end of the bargain,” he says cheerfully.

“Ah,” Finn says, baffled and uncertain. Peace King Luke smiles more widely, and nods down the corridor to where Beebee has appeared.

“I thank you for your company, Prince Finn,” Peace King Luke says, and Finn, who can recognize a dismissal when he hears one, bows deeply and backs away down the corridor until he’s far enough away to turn his back without giving offense.

“There’s luncheon in your rooms, Highness!” Beebee chirps, and Finn follows the boy through the palace corridors, wondering dazedly just what Peace King Luke _meant_ by that cryptic comment.

One dead prince of the Empire is much like another, after all.

*

Luncheon is, thankfully, quiet, and Finn eats alone and then sits in the very nice windowseat overlooking Alderaan and cleans his weapons and armor, which has always been a very soothing way to spend a few hours and also lets him think through everything without _looking_ like he’s thinking, which was often very important while he was one of the prince’s bodyguards.

He doesn’t manage to come up with anything useful _this_ time, though. The royal family of Jakku are intimidating and confusing - that’s not news, nor helpful. The information that Crown Prince Kylo Ren is the blood-son of War Queen Leia is _baffling_ , but not actually any use except perhaps to explain the prince’s burning hatred for the country of his birth, and the war princess who has - as he must see it - supplanted him. And none of that is going to be relevant to _Finn_ after - well, after moonrise tonight.

There’s a polite knock on his door, and Finn, startled, calls, “Enter!” He only realizes after he has done so that if someone _did_ want to assassinate the Empire’s prince before the wedding tonight, and thus invalidate the treaty, that would have been a perfect opening. But the person who comes cheerfully into the room is not an assassin, nor Beebee, nor the War Princess, but Sir Poe, wearing a broad smile that shines almost as bright as the early-afternoon sun outside.

“Good afternoon, Sir Dameron,” Finn says, confused.

“Good afternoon, Highness!” Sir Poe says. “I was wondering - Beebee said you haven’t had much of a chance to explore the palace, and I know the old place like the back of my hand. Would you like a tour?”

“Certainly,” Finn says, setting his sword aside, and then, before he can forget again, “Would you be so kind as to do me a small favor, Sir Dameron?”

“If you’ll call me Poe,” Sir Poe says cheerfully.

“Ah,” Finn says, blinking in surprise. “Poe, then. After - after tonight, would you see to it that Beebee gets my weapons, if Her Highness does not choose to keep them as trophies? I should like to think that they will go to one who will cherish them, and he has been a great help to me, these last few days.”

Sir Poe looks rather as though he has been struck. “I thought -” he says, and breaks off. After a moment he shakes his head a little, as though to resettle his thoughts, and says, more calmly, “Certainly, Highness, I will be honored to - to do you that favor. And on Beebee’s behalf I thank you for your kindness.”

“If I am to call you Poe,” Finn says hesitantly, “would you - would you call me Finn? I have only been a prince these eight days, and I am by no means accustomed to all the ‘Highnessing’ and bowing. It would be - it would be a kindness, to be only Finn again, to someone, for a little while.”

“Finn,” Sir Poe says, gently. “It is my honor.” There is a brief pause, and then Sir Poe adds, “So, _would_ you like that tour of the palace?”

“Yes, I would,” Finn says, and falls in beside Sir Poe as they leave the room.

Sir Poe does, in fact, know the palace like the back of his hand, and leads Finn from cellars to rooftops, pointing out places of interest as he goes, and so Finn spends the afternoon admiring tapestries and armories, particularly fine bits of stonework and places the palace has been repaired after wars or natural disasters, the especially fine view from the western tower and the startling array of books in the library.

Beebee finds them in the library, late in the afternoon, as Poe is pointing out some of the volumes he likes best, old tales of battles and heroes. “The tailors have your wedding outfit ready, Highness,” he says, and Finn nods and swallows and manages to dredge up a smile from somewhere.

“Thank you for showing me the palace, Poe,” he says solemnly, and Poe smiles back and says, “My pleasure, Finn.”

And then Finn follows Beebee out of the library towards the tailors, and his wedding clothes, and...what must come after.

*

The wedding is to be held in the formal gardens, which apparently have a dueling ring built into them already; Finn follows Beebee to his place just as the sun is setting, and rests a gentle hand on the child’s shoulder before Beebee can dart away again.

“Beebee, will you do me a favor?” he asks quietly, watching the witnesses assemble out of the corner of his eye.

“Anything you need, Highness,” Beebee says instantly.

“Please go into the palace and - don’t watch,” Finn says gently.

“Don’t watch?” Beebee asks in confusion.

“You have been a very good companion to me,” Finn says, “and - I would not have you watch me die. Please, go and find some place where you cannot bear witness to what is to come.”

“ _Die?_ ” Beebee squeaks. “But - but you’re -”

“I am a prince of the Empire, and this is what I was sent to do,” Finn says. “Will you do as I have asked?”

Beebee’s eyes are wide and full of tears, but he nods firmly. “I - I won’t watch, Highness,” he says, voice shaky but certain. “And - and I’ll miss you.”

“Do not grieve overlong for me. I have great faith that you will become a very fine knight, and have a long and glorious life,” Finn says. “Now, go.” He lifts his hand, and with one more distraught look the child is off like a rabbit into the palace, and Finn sighs and turns to face the priestess at the altar. She gives him what he’d swear is an approving look.

The garden faces east, and so Finn can watch the hills on the horizon, waiting for the full moon to rise. He doesn’t quite dare turn and look elsewhere, even when he hears War Princess Rey come up to stand beside him, the witnesses settle into place with soft murmurs and whispers, the War Queen and Peace King take their own places on either side of the altar. He waits, quietly, for his doom.

The moon rises, slowly and majestically, over the hills, and bathes the world in silver light.


	4. The Wedding

“We gather,” says the priestess, “to witness the vows between War Princess Rey, daughter of War Queen Leia, heir to the War Throne of Jakku, and Prince Finn Ren of the Empire, as laid out in the treaty between our peoples. We all bear witness, and through us so too do the gods. Highnesses, do you take hands, and make your vows to each other, under moon’s light and the gods’ eyes.”

Finn turns, slowly, and takes War Princess Rey’s hands, and meets her eyes, strange and fey in the moonlight.

“I swear,” he says, projecting his voice like he’s on a battlefield, because if this is the last thing he ever does he’s going to do it _right_ , “to be faithful to you and honor you, to be true in thought and action, word and deed, to you and your people, while there is breath and blood left in me; and on that breath and blood I make my vow.”

War Princess Rey’s eyes are unreadable in the moonlight, and her hands are warm and still in Finn’s, her grip firm enough that he is fairly sure she could break his fingers if she tried. But she does not; instead, she says, as loud and clear as he did, “I swear to be faithful to you and honor you, to be true in thought and action, word and deed, to you and our people, while there is breath and blood left in me; and on that breath and blood I make my vow.”

“We have heard your vows, and so too have the gods,” the priestess says calmly. “Now you shall prove them, in breath and blood.”

Finn lets go of War Princess Rey’s hands, and takes a deep breath, and follows her past the altar to the dueling ring. He has his sword, of course; it is a good blade, it has seen him through many battles, and its hilt settles into his hands as easily as ever, and he is grateful that he does not need to _think_ about taking up a ready stance, not anymore, because across the ring War Princess Rey has done something to her quarterstaff, and from each end sprout blades that gleam in the moonlight, shimmering like water. She takes her place, feet planted, face utterly unreadable, and Finn swallows and prepares to fight his last battle. He’s going to lose - he has no illusions about that - but he’ll do the thing properly, and not just lie down and bare his throat for the blade. That, he was told when this ceremony was first described to him, would be dishonorable - an indication that he did not consider his opponent to be worth the fight. Finn snorts softly to himself at the thought. If anything, _he’s_ not worthy to fight _her_.

“Begin,” the priestess says.

Finn is expecting War Princess Rey to be fast on her feet, but there’s fast and then there’s being the _living embodiment of a bolt of lightning_ , and he manages to deflect the first blow of her quarterstaff entirely on luck and instinct. He staggers back, finds his footing by sheer luck, and discovers that even if he wanted to attack it would be utterly impossible. It’s all he can do to defend himself, his sword just barely catching each blow before it lands - even in Hoth, wounded and half-frozen, he hadn’t felt this badly outmatched - she is everything the stories say of her, she is the whirlwind and the sandstorm and the sun’s rays come to earth to burn it down -

She knocks the sword out of his hands and sends it spiraling across the ring to _thump_ point-down in the packed earth, and Finn ducks a hissing blow from one of the blades and tries to lunge for his sword. Her foot catches him in midair and flings him sprawling to the ground, breath knocked out of him, able only to stare up into the moon as it makes a halo around War Princess Rey’s beautiful face, as she comes around in a whirling, deadly strike and the blade of her quarterstaff hisses down towards Finn’s throat -

(Finn has just enough time to recognize his death and be briefly, terribly grateful that he has not even enough breath left in his lungs to scream and shame himself at the last -)

And the blow never falls. The blade sits gently against the hollow of Finn’s throat, stopped before it can draw more than a single drop of blood, and War Princess Rey is looking down at him with moonlit eyes and a quirk to her lips that Finn frankly does not understand.

And then she lifts the quarterstaff away, and as she holds out her empty hand, offering him help onto his feet, the priestess calls out, “In breath and blood your vows are proven!” Finn takes War Princess Rey’s hand and stumbles to his feet.

There is a cheer, and Finn, head reeling, hand clasped tightly in War Princess Rey’s, can do nothing but stare down into her moonlit eyes dazedly, astonished again with every breath he draws, and hope his eyes ask the question he cannot quite bring himself to voice.

War Princess Rey _smiles_ , a bright sharp curve in the moonlight, and turns with his hand still held tight in hers to face the semicircle of witnesses, and cries out, “I present to you my husband and consort, Prince Finn - of Jakku!”

The cheering gets _louder_ , and Finn only just barely manages not to gape, and War Princess Rey pulls him out of the ring - past his sword, which he picks up with his free hand and sheathes - up through the formal gardens and into the palace, and Finn doesn’t know where they’re going to but he’ll follow her anywhere she wants to take him, this bright-shining deadly woman who held his life in her hands and chose not to take it, who is smiling at him so joyfully it makes his heart beat painfully against his ribs.

*

They’re about four steps into the palace when a small orange-clad missile comes shooting out of an alcove and strikes Finn in the midriff, and he staggers, only War Princess Rey’s hand on his holding him up, and wraps his free arm around Beebee’s shoulders. “Here now,” Finn says, as gently as he can. “Here now, are you crying?”

Beebee snuffles against Finn’s tunic and says, “You said you were gonna _die_!”

“Ah,” Finn says, and looks at War Princess Rey in bafflement. “I...thought I was.”

“Had he been any other nobleman of the Empire, he would have died at my hands this night,” War Princess Rey says gently to Beebee. “But then, were he any other nobleman of the Empire, I do not think you would be weeping at the thought. I am not such a fool as to kill a good man because he bears the name of those I most abhor.”

“Oh,” Beebee says, getting his sniffles under control and letting go of Finn. “I - I didn’t think you were, Highness -”

“Peace, Beebee, I didn’t think you were insulting me,” War Princess Rey says fondly. “Honestly, you’re part of why I _didn’t_ kill him.” Beebee gives her a wide-eyed look, and she smiles. “You took to him so quickly; clearly he was kind to those under his command, as well as polite to those above him.”

Finn blinks. _That_ is a very cunning way to assess someone, isn’t it. Effective, too. Finn has met _far_ too many people who are courteous as the day is long to anyone they consider their superior, and absolute monsters to anyone they think can’t fight back.

“He _is_ , Highness,” Beebee says, all eager sincerity, and War Princess Rey laughs, sweet and happy.

“Yes, I know,” she says. “And you may come and act as his valet again _tomorrow_ \- but tonight is my wedding night, lad, so run along and tell Poe I shan’t damage his new friend overmuch.”

“Yes, Highness!” Beebee chirps, nearly back to his usual cheerful demeanor, and goes trotting off, and War Princess Rey gives Finn a _look_ that makes him swallow hard against the rising flush in his cheeks, and thank the dim lighting and his dark skin that she probably won’t see it. Dear gods, he can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. He’s not sure anyone ever has.

And then she tugs him onward, into the maze of the palace corridors, and Finn follows her dazedly, wondering if he’s really out of danger yet. He may have survived the duelling ring, but a wedding night with _this_ woman -

Well, he’ll do his duty and he’ll do his best, and that’s all he _can_ do.

*

War Princess Rey’s rooms are high in the southernmost tower, airy and open, furnished with simple wood and tapestries woven with cascades of flowers. Rose is waiting for them, standing beside a table laden with good things; she looks them both over as they enter, then bows a little to the war princess.

“I’ll leave you til the morrow, then, my princess,” she says quietly, and War Princess Rey smiles and nods, and Rose bows herself out, and Finn is alone - properly alone - on his wedding night, with his terrifying beautiful bride.

“Dinner,” she says decisively, and pulls Finn over to the table, and it’s all good - all the food he’s had in Jakku has been good - and his appetite comes back a little at the tart sweetness of the early cherries bursting on his tongue, and then he looks up and sees her expression, her eyes dark and endless and the curve of her lips hungry for something quite other than the meal, and abruptly is so torn between terror and arousal that he cannot eat another bite.

And her lips curve into a crooked, gentle smile, and she says, “I shan’t hurt you, you know; I meant what I told Beebee. You’re a good man, and as the Empire has been so idiotic as to send you to me, I am going to keep you.”

The tiny scratch at the base of Finn’s throat stings, just a little, reminding him of her mercy, of the breath and blood by which he swore himself to her. “You could have had your pick of any man in Jakku,” he says hoarsely after a moment. “I am - I’m only a knight, you could have had a duke -”

“Finn,” War Princess Rey says softly, his bare name in her voice like a caress, “if I had wanted another man, I should have said as much.” She pauses, looking suddenly as off-balance as he’s ever seen her. “Did _you_ have a - a sweetheart? Have I taken you away from someone?”

“No one,” Finn says hastily. “I - no, there was no one.” Very hesitantly, he reaches across the table, lays his hand down palm-up within her reach, offering - anything. Everything. “I did not think that I would live to see midnight,” he confesses quietly, “and I am having some little trouble adjusting to the idea that I might see the _dawn_ , but -” He pauses, and lets himself truly _feel_ the awe and wonder, the astonished desire, the absolute _amazement_ that this bright, beautiful, deadly, wonderful woman wants _him_ , of all the men in the world, though he was her enemy not three full days ago, though he has not done what he would consider _near_ enough to earn her affection. “I swore you my breath and blood, thinking I would die for it,” he says softly. “I swear it to you now, again, for all my life. All that there is of me is yours.”

War Princess Rey’s eyes go very wide, and she puts her hand in his, her fingers warm around his wrist. “And I shall keep you,” she says, a promise as surely binding as the vows they made before the altar.

They smile at each other across the table for a long moment, and then War Princess Rey - Finn’s _wife_ Rey - says, thoughtfully, “It _is_ our wedding night. Have you, by chance, any relevant experience?”

Finn swallows. “Ah,” he says, because the _true_ answer is that when he was healed from his wounds and properly inducted into the prince’s bodyguard, the older guards got him quite thoroughly drunk and took him down into the red lantern district in Coruscant and bought him a courtesan for the night, but Finn was so _very_ drunk that he doesn’t actually think he _did_ anything with her, and then the next morning she lied like a champion and said he’d kept her up all night, and since then he just...hasn’t really had the time or interest to try again. “No,” he says at last. “Have you?”

“Yes,” she says. Finn blinks. In the Empire, a woman of noble rank is rather expected to keep herself chaste - but then, he realizes, since in Jakku the blood-children of the monarchs are _not_ necessarily their heirs, it wouldn’t matter too much if the princess _did_ have a child without a consort.

“Well then,” he says. “At least _one_ of us will know what we’re doing.”

War Princess Rey grins. “True,” she says. “Shall we?”

Finn stands at her gentle tug on his hand, and takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that this probably _isn’t_ a dying hallucination, and nods. “Lead on, Highness,” he says.

“Finn,” War Princess Rey says gently, stepping forward so she’s almost touching him, head tilted up to meet his eyes, breath ghosting over his lips, “I think you should probably be calling me Rey.”

Finn swallows hard. That...makes sense, he supposes; she _is_ his wife, and he her husband, and technically they have similar ranks, though she’s the heir to her throne and he is an expendable decoy “Rey,” he breathes, the word sweet on his lips, and she smiles.

“Yes,” she says, and leans up the last scant space between them, and kisses him.

*

Finn has always been a swift learner, and now he applies himself very carefully to learning this new skill: making Rey sigh, or moan, or shiver deliciously beneath his hands. It’s only kissing, but Finn has never quite realized kissing could be like _this_ : hot and sweet and hungry and gentle, tiny nips of teeth that do not hurt but leave him panting in shocked desire, shared breath and slick tongues and little sounds that slip from one mouth to another.

“You’re sure you’ve never done this before?” Rey laughs softly, pulling away a scant few inches and taking his hand. Finn follows her as she walks backwards into her bedroom, and cannot take his eyes off her radiant smile long enough to take more than a very brief glance at these new surroundings. He gets a blurred impression of long curtains over many windows, and a broad bed easily large enough for both of them, and then Rey is in his arms again, kissing him ardently.

“Never,” Finn says against her lips, and Rey laughs again, delighted and almost smug.

“Well then,” she says, and backs up - Finn yearns after her, and she giggles - and pulls off her tunic. She’s slim and pale in the moonlight slipping past the curtains, gleaming like the legend she is becoming, and Finn is briefly worried that if he puts his hands on her, he’ll burst into flame, as any man would who dared to touch a goddess in the flesh -

And then she is pressed up against him, all warm sleek skin and hungry kisses, and he can feel the thrumming of her blood, and knows that she is human after all. She tugs at the hem of his tunic, and Finn pulls it off clumsily, tosses it towards what he hopes is a chair, and draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of skin against skin, nothing but Rey’s breastband between them.

“So lovely,” Rey says, her hands gentle against his sides, her callused fingers seeming to leave lines of painless fire wherever she touches. “So brave,” she adds, and bends her head to press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder, the scar that won him knighthood.

Finn isn’t sure he can find words to describe how startlingly beautiful, how terrifyingly lovely Rey is, but he runs his hands down the line of her back, trails his fingers over the faint tracery of scars - none so dreadful as his, but so _many_ \- and dares to bend his head and kiss the curve of her throat. She tilts her head back with a gurgle of pleasure, leans into his hands and lets him take her weight, and that’s - oh, that’s something Finn never even knew to _want_ , the feeling of someone giving herself so trustingly into his arms. Of this deadly, radiant woman letting him hold her close.

“Finn,” Rey says, and Finn raises his head to see she is beaming at him, brown eyes wide and dark and pleased. “Let us to bed.”

“As my lady pleases,” Finn says, and delights in the warm chuckle that earns him.

She steps back and strips off her breastband, toes out of her boots and shucks her breeches without hesitation, and stands there gilded in the moonlight, watching him expectantly. Finn goes down on one knee to unlace his boots, and finds himself half-mesmerized by her toes, the strong lines of her calves, the scar that curves up the outside of her left thigh. He looks up to find her shaking her hair out of its braid, the heavy locks falling nearly to the small of her back in gleaming waves.

“The way you look at me,” she breathes softly, putting one callused hand to his cheek. “I do not think I am quite worthy of such awe.”

“I beg to differ,” Finn says, leaning into her hand. “I think you are entirely worthy of it.”

“You are really quite uncommonly sweet,” Rey says, smiling. “Come, husband, to bed.”

“Lead, and I follow,” Finn says, and rises as she backs away, following her towards the bed and only realizing when she launches herself gracefully back onto it that he’s still wearing his trousers. He shoves them off clumsily, and hesitates at the side of the bed. Rey is sprawled out gracefully among the multitudinous pillows, gleaming in the moonlight like a statue or a goddess, and Finn feels very mortal and very shy.

“Come here,” Rey says gently, holding out a hand, and Finn swallows hard and crawls onto the bed, settling beside her carefully. “Come and kiss me,” she adds, and Finn leans forward to obey.

Kissing Rey while they are both naked is _glorious_. She winds herself around him, all warm skin and eager biting kisses and clever hands, and Finn does his best to use what he has learned already to make her moan and seem to melt against him.

And then she reaches down between them and gets a hand around him, and Finn makes a rather undignified squeaking sound. Rey laughs, but it’s not a cruel sound, just warm and happy, and twists her hand in a way that makes Finn gasp and then moan helplessly, eyes falling shut, shuddering as he presses into her touch.

He opens his eyes to find Rey staring at him in something like wonder. “Gods all bless, you’re beautiful like that,” she says.

“I am?” Finn says, startled, and then, “Show me - show me what you like? Please?”

“Yes,” she says, and rolls onto her back, and shows Finn how she likes to be touched, where to stroke gently and where to use his nails and how to slide his fingers into her, faster than he would have expected, and move his thumb _just so_ until she bucks up against his hands and cries out, triumphant and joyful and _beautiful_.

“Good,” she says, panting a little, and grins up at him. Feeling greatly daring, Finn shifts his thumb in a slow circle, just the way she seems to like best, and her head falls back as she moans. “Oh, holy - _good_ , so good -” Rey gasps, and shudders hard. Finn watches, awed, as she comes apart, wild and glorious, hands clawing at the pillows and feet braced hard against the sheets, wisps of hair sticking to her forehead and her cheeks. _He_ has done this, he has given such pleasure to this astonishing woman; the thought is full of pride and no little lust.

And then she reaches down and grabs for his shoulders, hauling him closer, and Finn finds himself on hands and knees above her, not quite sure how he got there. Rey grins up at him, all teeth and joy, and loops a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down into a kiss.

“Clever, gentle, _lovely_ Finn,” she says quietly. And then, to Finn’s astonishment, she wraps her legs around his hips and flips them both over, landing on her knees above him with a ringing laugh. Finn, flat on his back, can’t help grinning up at her.

“Fierce, beautiful, wonderful Rey,” he replies, and her smile turns from hunger to deep affection.

“For you,” she says thoughtfully, “I think I can learn to be a little less fierce. Now and again.”

“I would never ask you to,” Finn says, quite honestly. “Any more than I would ask a sandstorm to be silent, or the sunshine to be cold. You are glorious just as you are.”

“You are remarkable,” Rey says, and leans down to kiss him; and then she reaches down between them to guide him just a little ways into her, and Finn makes a shocked sound against her lips and trembles with the strain of holding still. “Let me have you,” she murmurs, “let me show you -” And Finn nods and tangles his hands in the sheets and fills the room with shuddering moans as she moves, slow and languorous and graceful, atop him.

“Next time,” Rey gasps after a few moments, “next time, you can be the fierce one, if you like, and have me, but - oh - _oh_ \- you are so beautiful like this -”

Finn has honestly never been called ‘beautiful’ in such tones before, and the look of heated lust in Rey’s eyes is like a drug. “Let me?” he says, and unclenches one hand from the sheets to reach down between them and see if he can coax another shuddering wave of pleasure from his - his _wife_ , this terrifying glorious woman who has chosen him for her own; and Rey throws back her head and shouts her pleasure like a battle cry, and Finn comes harder than he _ever_ has in his own solitary moments of privacy, clutching at the sheets and Rey’s hip and thrusting up helplessly into her.

When the stars clear from his vision, he finds that Rey is sprawled atop him, warm and surprisingly heavy, and dares to wrap his arms around her. She sighs and relaxes even further, humming in clear contentment.

Outside, the moon is setting, its rays casting shadow-patterns on the bed, and as Rey’s breath eases into the deep rhythm of sleep, Finn thinks that this is going to be his life from now on: this deadly, glorious woman in his arms, and this beautiful kingdom thriving around him, and maybe - maybe even peace.

He thinks he’s rather going to enjoy it.


	5. Five Years Later

_Five years later…_

Finn waits on the front steps of the palace beside his adoptive father as the procession makes its slow way through the winding streets. The noise is deafening - Finn rather suspects every single citizen of Jakku who _could_ make it to Alderaan in time for this celebration is here now, and every inn is full, every family has distant relatives filling every guest room and sleeping on the floor, the palace has so many ambassadors and visiting royals in it that Finn can’t go five paces without bowing to _someone_ \- and everyone is throwing flowers or waving banners or trying to sing the national anthem or all three at once. It’s a glorious cacophony.

And down the very center of the chaos, emerging from the clouds of flowers on her tall sand-colored stallion like something out of a dream: Rey, proud and beautiful and _triumphant_ , smiling up at the waiting reception party, glorious as the rising sun.

Finn doesn’t go running down the steps to her, but it’s a near thing.

She dismounts at the foot of the palace steps, hands the reins to a weary but grinning Rose, and strides quickly up to the wide platform where Finn and the monarchs are waiting, then goes to one knee before Queen Leia and holds out an enormous scroll dripping with seals and gold trim.

“Majesty, I bring you the unconditional surrender and dissolution of the Empire,” Rey says, war-trained voice ringing out over the crowd. Queen Leia takes the scroll and holds it high, and the cheering doubles and redoubles, echoing off the palace walls, rising until the very sky seems to shake with it. Rey rises and embraces her mother, then her uncle -

And then flings herself into Finn’s arms. Finn hugs her as hard as he can, and meets her fiercely hungry kiss with equal fervor. It is long minutes later that she finally pulls away just far enough to rest her forehead against his shoulder. “I _missed_ you,” she says quietly, under the cheering.

“And I you, radiance,” Finn says, nuzzling against her hair, reveling in the warm weight of her in his arms again at last. It has been a _long_ year and a half, communicating only by letters, and Finn has spent very nearly every minute of it hoping and praying that Rey will come home safely. She has a few new scars, he can see even on this first glance, but nothing too dreadful; indeed, she is likely to be quite proud of them. The marks of battles won are fitting adornments for his War Princess.

Finn’s honestly not sure how long it is before Luke clears his throat meaningfully, and Rey sighs a little against Finn’s throat and moves to stand beside him, their hands clasped tightly between them. Together, they bow to the assembled crowds, and Queen Leia proclaims a feast for the court and a simultaneous festival for the city - which Finn has spent much of the past month organizing, as it happens - and then, _finally_ , they can retreat into the palace so that Rey can bathe and change for a full court occasion.

“So,” Rey says, as she splashes in the bath, and Finn helps Rose lay out the beautiful outfit which the tailors have made for the evening, “have you heard from Poe recently?”

“I got a letter from Beebee three days ago,” Finn says, grinning. “He said they were on their way back - probably get here in a week or so.” Finn is looking forward to the return of their Consort and his squire for a lot of reasons, only one of which is pleased anticipation of Beebee’s ceremony of knighthood.

“ _Good,_ ” Rey says, immensely satisfied, and stands up; Finn meets her as she steps out of the bath, towel held out, and wraps her up in it. She grins at him, humming with pleasure. “You know, I used to be perfectly content without anyone in my bed, and now if I don’t have at least one of you it feels _wrong_.”

“I know precisely what you mean, radiance,” Finn says warmly, and picks up a smaller towel to pat her hair dry. Rey leans into his hands contentedly. “My bed has been very cold, these many months.”

“Well, with any luck, once Poe gets home we’ll none of us need to leave for a while,” Rey says. “Or not for very long stretches, at any rate.”

“ _You_ won’t,” Finn says, amused. “ _I_ get to go negotiate treaties with every one of the seventeen new kingdoms the Empire’s dissolution has created. I think Luke has me leaving in less than a month.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Rey says, and then brightens. “I could come with you! Or Poe could - we could trade off. You’ll need a bodyguard, after all.”

“I may not be War Prince, but I _can_ still fight,” Finn says fondly.

“Well, yes, but it makes a good excuse,” Rey says, and cranes her head around to kiss him. “And really, once we’ve got the reserves disbanded and the army settled, I’m far less use around here. We don’t need the war monarch _and_ her heir constantly on duty if there’s no war.”

“We can ask Luke and Queen Leia,” Finn says. “I must admit having you or Poe along would make me happier - and I suppose if all three of us went, both Heirs and the Consort, it would be a very formal occasion. We could make a sort of Grand Progress out of it.”

“Yes,” Rey says, grinning. “Let’s do that.”

“But for now,” Rose says briskly, startling them both, “clothing, Highness?”

Rey chuckles. “Oh, well, if I _must_.”

*

Dinner is, as usual, absolutely delicious - Finn quite agrees with Luke, that having good food puts everyone in a far better mood - and the open windows in the banquet hall let in the sounds of merriment from the vast festival out in the city, and really today could not possibly be better unless Poe were here to share it, instead of halfway back from Kuat.

There is dancing after dinner, and Rey _loves_ dancing, so Finn spins her joyfully around the floor until he’s too exhausted to dance another step, and then turns her over to a hopeful-looking young nobleman and goes to collapse next to Luke on the dais -

And finds that there is someone in his seat.

“ _Poe_ ,” Finn says, incredulous, and hauls the Heirs’ Consort out of the chair and into a tight embrace. “I thought you were another week away!”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Poe says, grinning, and kisses Finn thoroughly. “ _Beebee_ is still a week away with the rest of our troop, and made me promise to tell you this was _all_ my idea, so you mustn’t be angry with him for the deception.”

“I don’t think I _could_ be angry with Beebee,” Finn admits. “The lad’s too charming. But come on - Rey’s danced _my_ feet off, now it’s your turn.”

“Oh, throw me straight to the wolves, I see how it is,” Poe teases, but he follows Finn down off the dais and cuts neatly in on Rey’s current partner, who looks briefly offended and then very startled. Rey lets out a whoop of glee and kisses Poe ardently, and Finn leaves them to their energetic dancing and retreats to the dais. Luke grins at him as he sits down.

“That Consort of yours is a _menace_ , son,” he says merrily.

“Yes, but he’s our menace and we love him,” Finn says comfortably, settling into the well-padded lesser throne. “Rey suggested we make a Grand Progress out of my treaty visits, send all three of us as a proper show of strength.”

“And this has, of course, nothing to do with your mutual desire not to be out of each other’s sight again for the foreseeable future,” Luke says shrewdly, but he’s grinning. “It’s a good idea; I’ll talk with Leia and see what Rey needs to do before she can leave again.”

“Thank you,” Finn says, and settles back to watch his beloveds dance the shoes off of everyone else on the floor.

When the ball finally begins to wind down, well into the wee hours in the morning - by the sound of it, the festival outside is still going strong - Rey and Poe come up to collapse onto the other lesser throne or - in Poe’s case - across Finn’s lap, making Finn grunt with the weight of him and then laugh helplessly, and Rey, leaning across to rest her head on Finn’s shoulder, says, “Tuppence for your thoughts, o Peace Prince? You seem quite lost in them.”

Finn loops an arm around Poe’s waist to keep him steady and reaches over to twine his other hand’s fingers with Rey’s, and smiles. “I was only thinking how lucky I am, radiance. And that, five years ago, if anyone had told me someday I should be sitting _here_ , with such glorious beloveds and so bright a future, I should have thought them quite mad.”

Rey chuckles. “I may have had a fair few doubts myself, five years ago, at such a prophecy,” she admits. “Marrying an Imperial prince, well, that is one thing; but loving him? And finding another man to love as dearly? Pfeh, I would have thought the speaker had eaten some particularly interesting mushrooms.”

“I should have laughed the soothsayer out of town,” Poe says, grinning. “Me, Consort? And to two Heirs so wonderful as you? I should have thought it quite impossible.”

“But here we are,” Rey says, sighing in contentment. “And the war is over. Oh, Finn - you may want to avoid the Lesser Throne Room for the next few days.”

“Oh?” Finn asks warily.

“The embalmers are having a little trouble with Supreme Leader Snoke’s head.”

Finn puts his head down on Poe’s shoulder and laughs until his sides hurt, and his beloveds’ laughter rises around him, the most beautiful sound in all the world.

**Author's Note:**

> So there was this list of romance novel titles generated by neural network, and I looked at "His Savage Bride" and went, 'This is a Finn/Rey fic, isn't it?' So here it is.
> 
> This fic will update Mondays until complete.
> 
> I am imaginarygolux on tumblr.


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